“Why are you looking like me at that? Am I supposed to go out and shoot something for dinner?”
“No, of course not. Have you eaten much wild game?”
“Only if someone else has shot it and reduced it to recognizable cuts of meat. I’ve had venison sausage, venison burgers, and probably a few other things I haven’t noticed. You?”
“I’ve eaten rabbit a few times. Physically it looks a lot like chicken, which I eat without protest, but I’ve had a lot of stuffed bunnies in my life, so I always feel guilty. Should we not eat cute food?”
“That’s your personal choice. I don’t want to give up animal protein, but I don’t feel strongly either way.”
“Good to know. I think we’re having lamb stew for dinner, if I ever get it started.”
Meg had assembled all the components for the stew in a large enameled casserole and was sliding it into the oven, set on low, when Lauren finally called. When Meg picked up, Lauren said, “Got him! Junior reporter but he’s worked at the paper for a few years, and his desk is in the bullpen near Jenn’s. So he overheard some cryptic conversations, but he’s smart enough to put together the pieces. Does that work for you?”
“Sounds great. Lunch?”
“I’ll give you a call and tell you where we can meet. Do I get to sit in?”
“As long as you can keep your mouth shut. The state police on our end won’t be happy if all this gets out before they say we can talk. I’m surprised we haven’t seen reporters crawling around our property already. I guess that means the state police are doing a good job of being mysterious—you know, unidentified body found in uncleared part of town, period.”
“Ooh, cloak-and-dagger stuff. Great! Talk in the morning tomorrow.”
After Meg hung up, she turned to Seth. “Well, we’re set. Should we tell Art?”
“That’s hard to say,” Seth answered. “We’re not conducting an official interview—this is off the record. You did tell Lauren that this still wasn’t public knowledge.” When Meg nodded, Seth went on, “We know the state homicide unit is muzzled until the narcotics unit gets whatever they’re looking for, so nobody officially knows it was Jenn who died, so nobody has made a connection to the Globe or even to Boston, except that one guy who came here looking for her, who was probably Justin. Odd, isn’t it, that you and I know more about this murder than most of the people in town? Or even beyond?”
“It is indeed. I told Lauren this whole thing was being downplayed. I can understand why, but when someone shoots at my car, I can’t just sit back and ignore it. So we go to Boston and we ask questions, and if anybody asks what we were doing in Boston, we say we were having lunch with an old friend and colleague of mine, and she happened to bring along a friend. End of story?”
“Works for me. And let’s leave Art out of this for the moment. Then he can plead ignorance without lying.”
Chapter 19
The weather kindly cooperated with their planned excursion: no snow or ice. Meg agonized about whether to wear fashionable shoes (if she could find any in her closet) or comfortable ones and decided in favor of the latter. If Seth was willing, she would be happy to park the car somewhere and ramble around the city that had once been her home, what seemed like a few thousand years ago. And she was excited about seeing Lauren and catching up, and looking forward to playing sleuth to get the inside story on Jenn’s murder, if possible. Okay, that was a bit silly of her—did she really think she was Nancy Drew?—and might even be illegal, if the state police in Northampton decided that she and Seth were interfering with a police investigation. She didn’t think she was interfering—she was just nudging the process along, which she felt she had the right to do. The drug people could focus on their drug investigation—she’d be happy to stay as far away as possible from that. She just wanted to know why Jenn had been dumped on her property.
They set off for Boston after breakfast. Seth drove and wound his way easily into the city. “You’ve done this before, haven’t you?” Meg commented.
“Did you really think I was a country bumpkin?” he replied, his gaze not leaving the maze of Boston streets. “The only problem is when they move roads and access ramps around, which they seem to do regularly around here.”
“I hear you. I rarely drove in the city when I worked here. In nice weather I would walk, and in lousy weather I’d take the T.”
“You heard from Lauren yet?” he asked.
“No, but we’re early. Any sightseeing you want to do? Museums? Historic sites?”
“I don’t think we have time to do justice to a museum, although I’ll admit I’d like to see what they’ve done with the Gardner since the last time I was here. As for historic locations, I’ve probably seen a lot of those over the years. A nice cemetery, maybe?”
“Looking for relatives or heroes?”
“No relatives, but there are a lot of big names buried in the one across from the Parker House. Old Granary. I always like to say hello to Paul Revere and Sam Adams.”
“Sir, you have hidden depths. So why don’t we park around there somewhere and walk?”
“Sounds good.”
As they emerged from the parking garage under the Boston Common, Meg’s phone rang, and she answered quickly. “Hey, Lauren. We still on?”
“We are. Where are you?”
“We just parked under the Common. We were going to play tourist.”
“How about we meet at the Parker House at noon?”
“You read my mind. Seth wants to visit the cemetery across the street. Is our contact still on board?”
“When I said I’d pay for lunch he jumped at the chance. I’ll book a table—a quiet one—and you can look like clueless tourists while we all talk.”
“Great. See you at noon then.”
Meg turned to Seth after she hung up. “I love it when a plan comes together. Parker House at noon. What do you want to see between now and then?”
They strolled aimlessly, admiring the venerable architecture surrounding the Common (with a number of much more recent additions), noting changes unfamiliar to them, moving just fast enough to keep warm. “This is nice,” Meg said after a while. “We should do this more often.”
“I agree. Providence isn’t too far. Or Newport. In easy reach.”
“Either sounds great to me. Should we head for the restaurant now?”
“I suppose. The cemetery should keep until after we eat.”
Lauren was already waiting when they walked into the lobby, and standing next to her was a casually dressed man about their own age. Meg and Lauren hugged enthusiastically, ignoring the embarrassed looks of their companions. Lauren introduced them to the other man. “Toby, this is Meg, formerly Corey, currently Chapin—she was the only other sane person at the bank when we were both there.”
“Are things any better now?” Meg felt compelled to ask, smiling.
“Not really. And this is Seth Chapin, her shiny new husband of—what is it, three months? These two went all country on me—Meg now grows apples, and Seth saves crumbling old houses.”
“Good to meet you both,” Toby said. “At least you can eat your output, Meg, which is more than many people can say.”
“I’m still learning how to grow apples—it’s definitely more challenging than crunching numbers.”
“Shall we find our table?” Lauren asked. “I requested one in the corner. I said you were from out of town and newlyweds, and I was afraid you might be noisy.”
“Gee, thanks, Lauren,” Meg said.
They fell silent while the hostess escorted them to their seats and retreated after handing them menus. “Oh, sweetie, we have to have the Boston cream pie! They’re famous for it!” Meg said to Seth in a louder-than-usual high-pitched voice.
“Sure, pumpkin, that sounds great,” Seth replied in the same spirit.
Lauren and Toby were staring at them as though they’d grown horns. “Hey, we were just trying to establish our characters,” Meg protested.
“Consider your job done,” Lauren said sternly. “Now, let’s order so we can get down to business.”
“I’m having the New England clam chowder and the New England lobster roll. And the Boston cream pie, of course. What?” she exclaimed when Seth stared at her. “I don’t get out of Granford enough, so I’m making up for it. You can have whatever you like.”
Orders placed, accompanied by iced tea so they could all keep their heads clear, Meg leaned forward and lowered her voice. “Lauren, how much have you told Toby? Or maybe I should be asking, how much does or did Toby know?”
“Hey, I’m right here. I knew Jenn pretty well,” Toby spoke up quickly. “She is, uh, was a few years older than me, but we kind of came up together, and hung out after work. Is she really . . . ?”
“I’m afraid so, but don’t spread that around, even at the paper. It’s a complicated situation.” Meg proceeded to repeat the now-familiar story, carefully tailored to avoid attracting any attention from adjoining tables, with Seth contributing details occasionally. Finally she said, “We’re not here on behalf of any law enforcement agency, but I feel like I have a stake in the outcome, which I think you can understand. There are a lot of people inside the investigation pulling in different directions, and I don’t think that’s helping. Actually, the more I think about it, the more curious I get about Justin, and where he fits in all this. Can you shed any light on that, Toby?”
Toby thought for a moment before replying. “Maybe I should take a step back and tell you my impression of Jenn. She was one damn fine reporter. She worked hard, she checked her sources, and she had a strong sense of priorities. She was also willing to help anyone who was struggling, which included me when I joined the paper. An all-around good person. Once she got hold of an idea, she was absolutely dogged about pursuing it, although this last effort of hers went far beyond anything she’d done before. But she wasn’t reckless—she believed she was ready to take it on, and I wouldn’t disagree.”
“Did she tell you anything about what she was doing?”
“Only bits and pieces. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust me, but she figured the fewer people who knew what she was doing and where she was going to be, the better for everyone. She believed she had ahold of something big, but she also knew it could be dangerous. I’ve assumed she told her plans to at least one of the senior editors, but nobody talked about it in-house.”
“And Justin?”
Toby’s expression changed to carefully neutral. “He was kind of the new kid on the block, newer than even me. I don’t kid myself—I’m not high on the pecking order, but neither am I at the bottom. I work hard too, and I’m learning all the time. I deliver on time, and my copy is clean. I was hoping to be another Jenn in a couple more years.”
Toby took a swig of his iced tea. “I don’t know where Justin came from—if I had to guess I’d say he was someone’s pet nephew. He was ambitious from the start, and he didn’t seem to care who he stepped on to get what he wanted. He watched Jenn like a hawk.”
“Were they involved personally?”
“Very unlikely. She saw right through him, which pissed him off. But like I said, he watched her, and I’d guess that he overheard enough to figure out what she was working on. Not the details, but the general outline. You know, big story, very hush-hush. That made him sit up and pay attention.”
“So how did she go after her story?” Seth asked. “She must have been absent from the paper for at least a week or two, working her way into whatever was happening in our part of the state. How did anyone explain that?”
Toby made air quotes. “On assignment. No further explanation.”
“And nobody made the connection with the unidentified woman found in Granford?”
“To be best of my knowledge, no one did or has since. The people on your end kept it very quiet. There’s still no official ID. And of course, none of our people were looking in that direction. Except Justin, apparently.”
“We have heard,” Meg said cautiously, “that he was seen in our town before her death. So he must have figured something out.”
“Jenn was careful, but it’s possible she left some scribbled message that gave him enough to work with. Or hell, maybe he had contacts of his own and figured things out that way. He never asked me where she was.”
Meg thought hard before phrasing her next question. “How far would he have gone to get a big story?”
Toby stared at Meg. “You mean, would he have killed her? I doubt it—I don’t think he had the guts to do that. But he might have deliberately blown her cover to the wrong people somehow.”
Seth said grimly, “He would do that? That’s pretty risky.”
“Wouldn’t surprise me, and I bet he’d have kept his hands clean,” Toby said. “Once she was out of the way he’d have the inside track on the story. Not a pretty picture, is it? I wish I had anything like proof to give you, but most of us are focused mainly on what goes on in Boston. I don’t think we look past Worcester.”
“Do you have any reason to believe that what Jenn was into in our area has ties to anything going on in this end of the state?” Seth asked.
“Not a clue. From things I’ve read, I gather your neighborhood is the new hot territory, with all those college kids around, not to mention faculty and tourists, but it would be easier to get product from New Hampshire, where things are pretty loose. But I’m just guessing. Sorry—I really liked Jenn, and I wish I could do more to help.”
Meg glanced around the table. “If—a big if—we find out what happened, and if Jenn left any materials behind—notes, emails, whatever—would you want to take over the story?”
“Sure, as long as Justin is out of the way—I mean, legally. I admit it, I’m ambitious, but not at anyone else’s expense. But I think Jenn deserves recognition for what she did, if there’s anything to show for it.”
Meg and Seth exchanged a glance. “I think that about covers our questions. Is Justin still hanging around the paper? Or did he take a sudden vacation or catch an unexpected flu?”
“He’s been in and out, but unpredictably. You said you’ve seen him?”
“Heck, I talked to him and gave him coffee,” Meg said, trying to keep the anger out of her voice. “And listened to him lie to my face, when I knew what the truth was. And I just smiled and played dumb. I suppose he could claim he had made up a cover story, but I’m not convinced. And then we learned that he’d been seen in our neighborhood before Jenn’s body was found. We live in farm country, so there’s not much reason for him to have been there.”
“Maybe he needed an inconspicuous place to crash?” Toby suggested.
“Could be. And then he did start asking around town if anyone had seen his girlfriend Jenn. I couldn’t swear when that was in relation to when we knew she was dead. There just isn’t a lot to go on, but I know I didn’t trust him.”
Toby glanced suddenly at his watch. “Shoot, I’ve got a deadline and I’d better go. Meg, Seth, thank you for sharing this information. I won’t tell anyone else until you give me the go-ahead. I hope I’ve helped. I’m truly sorry about what happened to Jenn, and if there’s anything I can do—a bit late—just ask.”
“Can I ask you to steer clear of Justin until we fit together a few more pieces?” Seth said. “He may still think he’s safe.”
“Sure. Loose lips and all that. And if and when you give me the go-ahead, I’ll see if anybody else at the paper wants in on the story. Jenn was popular, and she’ll be missed.” Toby stopped to fish a slightly bent business card from his pocket. “You can reach me here. You do email?”
“Uh, yes, Toby,” Meg said sarcastically. “We may be hicks, but we do use computers.”
“Sorry,” Toby said. He grinned, which made him look even younger. “Hope I’ll be hearing from you. Bye, Lauren—thanks for inviting me.” He held up a hand in farewell, then walked across the large room toward the exit.
When he’d gone through the doors, Meg said to Lauren, “Yo
u were very quiet.”
“I didn’t know Jenn, and I don’t know squat about drug dealers, thank goodness. Did you get what you wanted from Toby?”
“Definitely. And thank you for setting that up. He was exactly the kind of insider we needed to talk with. If there’s any way we can feed him the story, I’d be happy to. As long as it doesn’t get us arrested.”
“Any idea when the state police are going to wrap things up?” Lauren asked.
“Not a clue,” Meg told her. “They won’t even talk to the head homicide detective, who sometimes talks to our local police chief, who has no trouble telling us anything he knows because he knows we won’t spread it around. So bottom line, don’t hold your breath.”
“Got it. You heading home today?”
Meg looked at Seth once again before answering Lauren. “I guess so. I’m sorry I haven’t been a better friend to you. I owe you one.”
“You mean, like forgetting I exist for months at a time? That’s okay—I understand. New job, new husband. You’ll get over it, and when you do, I’ll be waiting. On the other hand, if you’re dead, please let me know.”
“Of course. Hold a séance with Toby and I’ll explain everything after the fact.”
“Perfect. Now, can we enjoy this great food?”
They ate while discussing ordinary matters that didn’t include murder, and Meg enjoyed every bite. Finally, as she scraped the last remnants of Boston cream pie off her plate, she said, “That really was wonderful. Seth, we should do this more often. Maybe twice a year?”
“Or you could invite Lauren out to our neck of the woods for a pastoral weekend, and prove that we have good restaurants too.”
“I’ll take it,” Lauren said quickly.
They all stood up. “Seth, you still want to say hi to John Hancock?” Meg asked.
“It’s a tradition of mine. Won’t take a minute.”
“Both of you, go!” Lauren said. “At least the traffic should be light. Come here, you.” Lauren grabbed Meg in a fierce hug. “Take care of yourself.”
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